“Only if you bring me a Flat White and a croissant. I am notoriously bad-tempered before breakfast.”
His weary face broke into a gentle smile. “I'm sure the station said something similar when we radioed through we had run into you.” He held open the back door to PC Watkins's police car and gestured inside.
“Good night, Miss Simmons.” She replied with a smile, and watched as the police driver slipped into the cool English night.
“D'ya know where you are going?” Paige asked. “I'd say follow the yellow cockmobile but he's probably speeding through London now.”
He spoke in a youthfully high voice but the conversation between them petered out as they reached the end of the road.
London was busy; the city that never sleeps was wide awake, and the mass of drunken revellers and workers traversing the streets meant several people saw the pregnant woman ride in the back of a police car to the river-front property that Andre called home.
The journey gave her time to think; time to evaluate Hazel’s relationships. Deep down she had always known Ricky was trouble and she had seen it so often. He loved the idea of a young wife rather than loving his young wife and Hazel became a punchbag for him to abuse to hide all of his insecurities. The night and been the final few pieces of the jigsaw and it pained her to realise the full extent of her sister's relationship.
But he was right about one thing: Paige had never liked him. She wondered if it would ever come out that on the eve of the EuroSong tournament she had flown to London to smash his face in. A pregnant woman had beaten up the “hard man of British rap.” In many ways she wanted to keep it private, although she knew Andre was probably already working out the best way to tell the story.
He didn't disappoint; she had barely crossed the threshold to the flat when he started. “Hazel's in the spare bedroom. I'll put you in mine and I'll sleep on the couch. And I need you to look over this media plan.” Paige's eyes sizzled and he shrugged. “Hey, the media are important. We got a story to tell and we need to tell it. Our way.”
“Andre, for the first time since you fucked around behind Claire's back I no longer want to pummel your face in with a baseball bat, tie your balls to the mains supply or just do the traditional and lace your food with laxative chocolate before locking you inside a deep-sea diving outfit. Don't spoil it.”
“Hey, listen.”
Paige shook her head. “Andre, go to the bedroom, I'll sleep on the couch.” He opened his mouth and Paige put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backwards. “Let's not have a shit in the soup situation here. I'm a whale, I need cushions for support. I see Claire left you ample soft furnishings. Go. Before I hurt you. And I hope tonight has been an ample demonstration that even though I’m the size of a small hippo, I can still inflict pain. So let’s not have a Lamborghini in a fishing pond situation here. I’ll sleep on the sofa. OK?”
He smiled; they said good night and Paige settled on the sofa, pulling the black blanket Andre had prepared for himself over her naked body as she positioned the myriad of cushions around her bump.
Baby kicked. It had been moving more and more as he neared full term but had been still from the moment she had entered Hazel's flat.
“Oh, you're awake are you. Hide while the adrenaline's going, right. Yellow streak a mile wide,” she laughed and rubbed her belly. “I just hope you were taking notes! 'Cause you might have a little sister or brother and you might need to show your balls – or your lady balls – to keep them safe.”
Her words faded away as she drifted into sleep until the Police knocked stoutly on the door at 8am. Paige staggered from her slumber to open it, still wrapped in the blanket. “Come in, I'll get Hazel,” she yawned, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“It's you I need to speak to first.” His partner shut the door and Paige slumped at the dining table in the open plan living area, yawning loudly.
“What do you want?”
“Well, we will need a full statement when you return from Sweden, but if we take your version of events now.” He put a takeaway cup of coffee and a paper bag in front of her and gestured. “As promised.”
“You do keep your promises,” she laughed, looking inside the bag and reaching for her purse in her coat pocket. He accepted the five pound note with a wry grin.
“Of course. Your file said you'd be more cooperative if I did.”
“What else does my file say?” She asked, a little indignantly as the middle-aged inspector sat opposite her at the dining table. He adjusted his blue tie, that matched his wide-awake sapphire eyes. His crisp uniform was immaculate.
“Miss Simmons,” he said smartly. “You don't want to know.”
“But …”
“About last night. And would you like to cover up, get dressed.”
“Hey,” Paige laughed. “What does my file say? Must say something about that!”
“It does.” He nodded at his assistant. “Shall we begin?”
“Yeah, one question.” Paige said as the balding assistant pulled a witness statement pad from his bag. “Why did you let a person who had just battered someone leave the scene of the event. Especially when that person is me. I mean, I was sure I was going to spend a night at your charming en-suite facilities.”
He leant his elbow on the table, cradling his clean shaven chin in his hand. “I didn't go into policing to put heavily pregnant women in cells for having the guts to stand up to wife-beaters and rapists.” His voice was calm and mellow, yet uncompromising. “You're not a risk to the public so why would we? We're not complete ogres you know, despite what you might think.”
“I'm from South London. Let me have my prejudices!”
“And anyway, F Division would make my life hell if on a Friday night I'd brought in Paige Simmons as well.” Paige giggled. “They still remember you from your Hyde Park gig and the problems you caused. It's not in our interests to have a media circus.”
“And surely one of the neighbours must have heard something last night?”
“Ahh, yes. Let's just say, we had a report of screaming from one of the neighbours as well as a prior call from Mr Wilson. None of which appears to have been investigated fully. Someone's for the high jump when the IPCC investigate. And then a pregnant woman uses a bronze statue to subdue an attacker to protect herself and the victim. I'm going to have a hard job finding anything that you've done wrong.”
Paige giggled. “Can I have those words framed?”
“Anything wrong last night,” he corrected himself. “We know you have an interesting relationship with the Met Police. No-one down the station is remotely surprised we've run into you. They're going to add you to the Hendon training programme!” Paige's eyebrows fleetingly moved. “Oh, before we start. Mr Nicholls. Do you want to know how he is?”
“Only if it's bad news.”
“We expect him to have scarring but he'll live. Despite the 28 fractured and broken bones. Arm, Wrist, Pelvis, Nose, Jaw, Ribs. Quite a collection you gave him there.” She shrugged. “We've seen ABH victims get off lighter than what you did to him.”
“Good.” Her eyes hardened as she bit into the croissant, and she began to recall her version of events. She told of the late-night phone call alleging that she had leaked his naked photos, and the court case involving the young teenager. She told of the EuroSong party and him causing a six-figure amount of damage, and then she recounted the events of the night previous.
Paige had a flair for dramatic theatre and her retelling of the previous few months and then the previous few hours, was powerful. She touched on the bond she felt with Hazel and the suicide attempt which had left her sister fighting for her life. She portrayed Ricky as the violent thug he was, and the officers allowed her to finish her account before asking questions.
It took over sixty minutes before she was given a copy to sign. Her eyes scanned over the hazy handwriting and she scribbled her signature underneath the text as Hazel entered the room, bleary-eyed and holding a teddy.
Her red hair was frizzy and her eyes red and blotchy. Her pink dressing gown was tightly-tied around the waist. Paige got up to hug her sister, untroubled by the presence of strangers to her nudity.
“Mrs Nicholls,” the Inspector called. “I have WPC Hingis coming to take a statement from you in half-an-hour. Is there anyone you want present?”
“Yes, me.” Paige retorted.
“No,” Hazel muttered and shook her head. “Stockholm, Paige. You need to go to …”
“No!” Paige's glared at her sister and she crossed her arms. “I'm needed here.”
“I'll go with you, Hazel.” The voice from behind Paige made her jump and Andre nodded towards his employee. “Lucinda’s coming over too. If you need someone and …”
“No!” Paige screeched. She turned to face the Inspector and then Hazel. “Listen to me. They are going to ask you so many questions. They may need to do an examination. An intimate examination. You need your family around you and you need …”
“I've phoned Mum,” Hazel interrupted. “She said she's coming. So you can go to Stockholm and …”
“I'm not going to sodding Stockholm while you need me here!”
“You are!” Hazel shouted, and sniffed back the tears. “You are Paige. I don't need to be told what to do. Mum is coming here and you are going to represent Great Britain in sodding Stockholm.” Paige went to speak but was interrupted by her sister. “You're always telling me that I need to stand up for myself, well guess, it's coming back around.”
“Karma's a bitch!” Andre joked but Paige ignored him.
She grabbed hold of Hazel's shaking hand and met her gaze. “Let me help.”
“You have helped. More than I could possibly have ever asked for. But you have a life too and you need to be in Sweden now. Your country needs you.”
“My country …”
Hazel turned to face the Inspector. “Officer. A member of the public that looks suspiciously like my sister, broke into my apartment last night. Tell me, what happens if that person had, in a Police statement, admitted to that offence and the home-owner was to make a complaint?”
“Well in this instance we would … erm … yes, I see. Well …”
“Coming to the aid of a person who's in the shit,” Paige interrupted. “There's a law that protects me. For that bit of my evening anyway. And if I'm banged up with the rozzers then I ain't in Stockholm, so nice try but no cigar.”
“Paige,” Andre said. “I have a request from the BBC that want an interview with the band post-EuroSong. You know, a 'Looking back at the event' sort of interview buried on BBC4. They have two hosts being considered. Peter Moran is one of them. I can get it changed, but if you are not in Stockholm and miss it because your sister was attacked, then it would go primetime and I shall insist on Peter Moran. Oh, and before you bitch, it's in the contract you penned with Auntie. The BBC will get their interview.”
She shook her head.
“Paige, a lot of people pulled a lot of strings and worked very hard to make tonight a reality for you. It means a lot to Claire especially. How hard did she work? Think of what a difference six months has made from hospital bed to world's stage.”
“Don't you mention her,” Paige fizzed; her finger wagged angrily. “You've no right to mention her.”
“And you've no right to disappoint her. What did you tell me last night, don't spoil it. I'm saying the same to you now. I'm going to get you on a plane to Stockholm and everybody expects you to be on it. And I know you won't disappoint us because you've never done that before. Surprised us, yes. Shocked us too, but disappointed us, it's not in your nature. Now go have a shower while I arrange the flight and then we can leave Hazel and your mother to provide the evidence to put Ricky away for a very long time.”
Paige stood motionless in thought. “I'll go have a shower,” she muttered and walked towards the bathroom. “And then we'll talk.”
Hazel sniffed. “Paige, please don’t let me be the reason you miss EuroSong.”
Chapter XCV
Paige
Paige showered, dressed and returned to the living room as Lucinda and Suzanne Simmons arrived at Andre's luxurious flat. Hazel embraced her mother.
“Keeping an eye on things, were you?” Paige sniped, glaring at their mother. “I told you things weren’t right and you poo-pooed me like a little child and …”
Hazel interrupted before her mother could talk. “This isn’t the time, Paige.”
“It is, it’s exactly the right time. I told you what I knew and you thought you knew better.”
“Paige,” Hazel interrupted again. “This can wait. Please, Paige. Not now.”
“No …”
“There's been a slight problem,” Andre admitted, interrupting Paige. “No spaces on flights to Stockholm and I have been struggling to get you on a private flight. Stockholm's airports are quite busy and so is London City. I've found a private charter who are flying some lads out to the EuroSong contest this afternoon and have two spare spots and their checking with the client. But I know the client, it’s some guys I know from the club off on a EuroSong juncket.”
“Well, anyway that won't be a problem,” Hazel suggested. “Fans of the show are going to want to travel with the talent.”
“It's a slight problem,” Andre replied and Paige eyed him as he didn't elaborate. A phone call stopped him having to answer the inquisitive look of Paige and he returned to the room to turn on his television.
At first, it appeared to be a rude act, but flicking to the 24-hour news channel it became clear what he was showing. “Breaking News,” Hazel read on the screen. “Ricky Nicholls, known as The Tempest in hospital after being attacked last night.” She swung her gaze towards Andre. “That's not the story.”
“I know,” he soothed. “I know. Let me work my magic.”
Paige gulped. “Yeah, the media plan.”
“Yes, Paige. The media plan. My work isn't sitting back and creaming off a percentage of your hard work. It's keeping you out of trouble, keeping you legal, and often in the purple prose with the papers and paparazzi.” She snorted. “And now, you and I have a date with a Cessna to take you to Stockholm.”
“You coming with me?”
“Oh yes,” Andre replied with twinkling eyes. “I've had the BBC on the 'phone. I am going to deliver you to EuroSong personally and watch you make Britain proud.”
The agent fiddled with his keyring to remove a house key and passed it to Lucinda. “Lock up when you go. Leave it with the concierge.”
“Sure will. Oh, and do you have any booze in the house. For our young lady's nerves.” Lucinda's hand rested on Hazel's shoulder. “And obviously for this old bag as well.”
“There's some 25-year-old single malt in the drinks cabinet. I'd like to see a wee dram of it, but I wouldn't be too upset if you had a drop.”
“Aye,“ Lucinda replied, smiling. ”Of course, don't be too upset if we'd found that quite a lot of it had evaporated. Whisky can evaporate inside 25 years!”
Andre gestured. “Quite.” He looked at Paige. “Purse, passport?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent, Let's go.”
Paige took a few moments to hug her sister, pushing her mother out of the way and whisper clandestinely. “You sure?”
Hazel nodded. “Yes. Please go. I'll see you soon.”
Andre's departure from the car park in his yellow sports car was a lot quicker than Paige's departure from the flat. He hurried, and his acceleration forced the young singer into her seat.
“Do you mind?” She shouted as the needle on his speedometer hit 12noon. “This is a sixty.”
“Fifty actually.” The needle touched ninety as he overtook several cars in the overtaking lane of the dual carriageway before braking hard for the roundabout.
“Baby doesn't like it,” Paige snapped, lying as she cradled her belly. She groaned for added effect and warned him that he could induce a bloody childbirth in his new car, and he slow
ed to much nearer the speed limit.
He parked the car and said little as they walked through the terminal. “Just going to the loo,” she announced, and left him to go through a set of double doors. He followed her and waited outside the ladies toilets.
“Just making sure you don't give me the slip,” he said, justifying himself to her when she came out of the toilets.
“Just handcuff us together!” Paige snapped, scowling as they walked into the airport and upto a sign that read David Fleet Airways. Andre chatted to a receptionist and they were escorted to a brilliant white jet plane that held eight passengers; six seats were filled.
“Ah, hullo!” A voice cried as Paige entered the cabin. “The filly of the trio. Delightful.” His eyes looked at Andre joining them in the cabin. “Andre Wilson, it's been a spliffingly long time since you've joined us in the club.”
“Yes,” he replied as Paige glared at him. “This is Paige Simmons, you know her from the Bare Necessities and …”
“… the lady who can't keep her clothes on. We see a few of those at the club, don't we ol' boy!”
“Ah yes, and this is Rupert Baldwin. He's the Chief Tax Accountant for … a big banking … a big company and … er, a drinks friend of mine.”
“Chief Tax Accountant?” Paige asked enquiringly.
“Yes, you see, we need to be tax efficient …”
“Oh dear,” Andre muttered and held Paige's hand.
“… and it's important that we pay the right amount of taxation while minimising it. The tax laws of every country are notoriously complex and we need to claim the right relief for each year in each jurisdiction. It's …”
Paige smiled. “So, if this plane was to crash and burn on Stockholm runway your bank would pay more tax into the UK economy?”
“Err … well …”
Rupert was interrupted as the stewardess entered the cabin. The plane was ready to take off and all the passengers were required to have their seatbelts on. The chatter in the small plane stopped as the Cessna taxied to the runway and then accelerated sharply.
Bare Necessities 2 (The Bare Necessities) Page 37